


Familia Est...

by KittyAug



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, M/M, POV Lucius Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 12:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAug
Summary: The Prophet is calling it the wedding of the century.  Witch Weekly can't get enough of Harry and Draco, but Lucius is far less impressed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Warning(s):** NA
> 
>  **Epilogue compliant?** EWE
> 
>  **Author's Notes:** Thanks and love to my lovely beta and mod for being amazing despite my uselessness. All remaining mistakes and waffle are my own.
> 
> Written for [PROMPT 28](http://hd-familyfest.livejournal.com/14832.html?thread=206576#t206576) for [HD_FAMILYFEST](http://hd-familyfest.livejournal.com/)

Lucius Malfoy, for all his many faults, had always loved his family very dearly. His son was his pride and joy, and his deep and abiding love for his wife was the stuff of gossip -- if not legends. Some had even said that it was his one saving grace, it was certainly the one thing that had saved him from a Dementors' Kiss.

It was this fact of simple devotion, foremost among many, which made Lucius toss the _Daily Prophet_ down upon the table with such sudden force that Narcissa was startled into wide blinking from behind her own copy of the _Witch Weekly: Big Wedding Edition_. Such a visible reaction on the face of his normally composed Narcissa, was what would have been a scream from any ordinary witch.

"Lucius?" she prompted, with unwarranted caution.

She was so often cautious these days, of him, of reporters, of the world. Even if Lucius was the only one privy to it. It still tore at him in ways he would rather not face. Narcissa should have been a queen among wizards, she should not have had any reason for something so lowly as caution. She was powerful and pure and she should have been great. She was still gratifyingly far from cowed, but it stung him to see it, this tentative thing in her eyes and her tone.

Lucius' own failures, and those of the men he had allied himself with, had brought them all low. Already aggravated by the dreadful news and so-called reportage splattered across the _Prophet_ pages, he could feel the wild magic coil inside him.

"Lucius," Narcissa said again. She lowered her magazine and reached for his hand instead, channelling his focus to her. On contact, her cool magic rose to meet his and held him safe, as it always did. The touch of her soft, lilac scented skin and her dark violet eyes dragged him back to the present.

"I'm fine," said Lucius, relaxing in the comfort she'd offered.

Her eyes grew soft, he decided not to take it personally.

"This whole situation is utterly untenable," Lucius admitted, gesturing aggressively to the discarded newspaper with his free hand.

On the front cover, the picture looped again. Draco half draped over Harry Potter, smirking and undignified. The possessive glint in Potter's eye as he wrapped an arm around the Malfoy heir, turned Lucius' stomach.

"Now, now dear," said Narcissa, scolding lightly and pretending at normalcy, "much worse matches than this have been made under duress. Our situation may not be what it once was, not after that regrettable business with the war, but this will be a good thing. You'll see."

She patted his hand and then withdrew hers to take a sip of her tea.

Lucius lifted his own cup and wondered if she'd notice if he transfigured it to something stronger. Her knowing look across the breakfast table told him that she certainly would. Lucius sighed and settled with his unchanged, and sadly unspiked, lapsang souchong.

Spring sunlight poured through the large bay windows of the guest parlour which currently housed them.

It was a perfectly acceptable space with a reasonable view. It should have been a pleasant enough morning. Apart from the fact that the windows looked out across the lawns of the Estate. The lawns themselves were not to be faulted. It was all the scurrying about upon them which bothered Lucius further.

The teams of work-wizards and elves had been busy for weeks. Preparing, cleaning, decorating. It would look perfect, Narcissa had been involved, of course it would. That didn't help. Lucius looked away from the horrid scene and focused on his breakfast. Narcissa would be pleased if he ate well, and he knew he would need his strength if he was going to get through the day without needing to hex anyone.

The article had been utterly preposterous. Naturally, when Draco had discovered Potter's perverse attraction, he had made the most of a horrific situation. The reminders of this, and the implication that it was Draco and not Potter who had been the aggressor in the whole tawdry situation was enough to offend even the most stable of sensibilities. Even when Lucius knew that the Dark Lord was gone, he couldn't help the icy twist of fear when he saw words implying Draco of treachery, printed cold in black and white. The _Prophet_ seemed taken with the idea that Draco had somehow helped Potter escape, given rather than lost his wand, it was all romantic twaddle, but it would be dangerous twaddle if the Dark Lord ever rose again.

Just as Lucius was about to express his concerns to his wife, the parlour door burst open with the kind of negligence for propriety that could only be shown by his son. Narcissa sighed. Lucius refrained but appreciated her feelings on the matter.

"Draco," Narcissa admonished. She was ignored.

Draco flung himself into the chair opposite his mother and took the last strawberry shortbread off her plate. He grinned across the spread, confident in a way Lucius almost envied. His return to social darling had done him nothing but favours, even Lucius could admit as much, despite the horrific cost it must secretly take on the boy's pride.

"He's seen the _Prophet_ then?" Draco asked Narcissa, taking in the mood of the room at last. Draco spoke of Lucius as if he wasn't present, was a favoured pastime for his son. Lucius forbore in consideration in honour of the sacrifices the boy was making for the Malfoy name.

"Yes, we have," said Narcissa, making a gratifying show of loyalty. Lucius inclined his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment of her efforts. "And you really should be more circumspect, my love," Narcissa continued, "you do know how the public are prone to worry and gossip where you are concerned."

Her corrections of Draco’s behaviour were careful as ever. Perhaps she had always been too careful all things told.

"Mother, I am marrying the chap, I think getting a little handsy at the Leaky is the least of the public's worries. At least if my 'fan mail' is anything to go by."

Draco helped himself to another small cake and winked at his mother in a most ungentlemanlike manner.

"Draco," Lucius said, unable to help the quick correction.

"Father," Draco mimicked in return.

"Now, now…" Narcissa reached into her reticule and withdrew a small glass vial full of swirling memory. "While we are of course grateful that you have made time for us, Draco, I must prevail upon you to take my wedding gift for Mr Potter."

"Mr Potter?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow as well as the well-worn argument.

"Your grandmother Malfoy insisted on calling me 'the youngest Black girl' for a decade, I am sure Mr Potter and his friends can manage with a little bit of common courtesy, Draco."

"As you say, Mother. What is it anyway?" Draco asked, finally taking the proffered vial.

"A memory of his mother and father fighting at Hogwarts," Narcissa's darker smile showed at the edges of her civility and despite the topic, Lucius was pleased by it. "It seems appropriate, no?"

Draco laughed. "You don't think that's a bit on the nose, do you?" His tone and manner were so light that, if Lucius had not known better, he would have assumed the boy was genuinely pleased about the event to come.

"Not at all. I happen to know a thing or two about family, Draco. And I'm certain this is the best gift I can give either of you."

It was quite true. The Black family motto may have been 'Toujours Pur' but Narcissa bore the words 'Semper Familia est Primea' tattooed into her ribs. Family first, always.

* * *

Lucius liked to say that he had been enamoured of Narcissa from the moment he first saw her. She called him romantic and ridiculous whenever he vouchsafed this information to her, but her scorn was fond enough that he continued to remind her.

Even in their school years, she had been something to behold. The Blacks bred for power as much as beauty and purity and she had radiated something other girls her age had yet to find. And many never would. A certain confidence in her own abilities and a magical energy, and a manner of command which those around her bent to follow. Lucius had wanted her almost as much as he had at first resented her.

Purebloods did not marry for love. It wasn't done. Marriages were contracts, legally and magically binding; such bargains were not to be struck lightly or with sentiment. Least of all for those who would carry on the names from the Great Houses of the sacred twenty-eight. Duty and blood were the words they lived by. Devotion between spouses was necessary, of course, but passionate desire was dangerous and often unwanted. Marriage was a bond of great faith, certainly, many even grew to fondness and affection in time. But love was irrelevant. Pureblood sons knew this from birth. They knew what to expect and what was expected of them in return. They had a duty to the bloodlines, a duty to magic herself. Marrying for love was too prosaic, too Muggle, too dangerous to their way of life. Lucius had done it anyway.

Narcissa and Lucius found that their bloodlines had been as compatible as their tastes, their magic, and their complexions. It had been luck as pure as felix felicis, but at the time he had assumed it to be his birth right. It still took more than their names and their pedigree to fall in their favour.

Narcissa's father, old Cygnus Black, had at first, planned to wed at least one of his daughters back into the primary Black line. It took but a small suggestion in the right direction to encourage Sirius Black to divest himself of his last shred of respectability and with it any hope of Narcissa's hand; had Sirius even had the sense to host such hope - it had never been clear. Lucius rather suspected that Sirius' interests had lain in a more masculine direction and Merlin knew he had no sense at all. Narcissa herself had been responsible for placing that final word in her dear cousin's ear, as far as Lucius knew. He had been close to running off with his Gryffindor cronies and the support of his beloved cousin had been more than enough to have him leaving his name behind him with barely a backward glance. Lucius held Sirius Black in nothing but contempt but had to admit that Sirius' desertion had served Lucius' own hearth much better than it had the Blacks.

After that all it took were a few words in Lucius father's ear and the rest had been taken care of simply and efficiently. Their courtship had been practically decorous, in the end.

His often unspoken sentimentality did not make Lucius a romantic. He was not a Hufflepuff nor was he a fool. It would be a sorry wizard indeed that assumed Lucius adoration for a woman as dangerous as Narcissa Malfoy was anything near weakness. Love made Lucius sharp, he was neither stupid nor was he blind, and should he slip then Narcissa was there to hex him back into line. She was glorious, and devious, and utterly brilliant. Lucius had never and would never see her match. Loving Narcissa was the most sensible thing he had ever done. Sometimes, when the lights were dim and he woke from nightmares of blood and mud, loving Narcissa was the only thing that made any sense at all.

As such, Lucius understood the strength of love and refused to be equally weakened by it. However, Lucius also understood the simple complexities of the world. He knew the rules he had been raised with, and he had learned them well.

He knew that if you didn't have the power to get what you wanted, then you needed to align yourself with those who did. He knew that blood came first, and his family's blood before that of any other line. He knew the world was a dangerous place for a weak or lonely wizard. He knew that sacrifices had to be made, for name and for blood, and for magic. For safety and for power. He knew all of these facts like breathing. That didn't mean that selling off his only son to the victor's figure head felt any less of a complete and utter defeat. The final inglorious nail in the tarnished coffin of the House of Malfoy.

It did not matter, in the face of it, that a life debt was owed. He knew there was no way out, he knew the rules of blood and magic which bound them all. But that knowledge did not reconcile the facts with his heart. He knew there was no other choice, but that did not still his nerves as he stood before the sideboard and lost track on his purpose. It did not still the tremor in his hands or the doubts in his mind.

Lucius might not be a romantic, but he had hope. He did not have delusions that the rest of the world would find the kind of love he had, least of all in the safe bonds of a socially acceptable marriage. He had hoped, however, Draco would find companionship, in the very least. Some form of affection maybe, when it came time to put name and duty first. Lucius had intended to find someone who could make Draco comfortable, if not deliriously happy. He had always intended to take his son's feelings into account when negotiations began in earnest. He loved both Draco and Narcissa far too much not to at least consider any valid options Draco may have found for himself. Unfortunately, valid options had not been what Draco brought to him.

The end of the war had found the Malfoys in socially, if not economically, straitened circumstances. The power of their name had been weakened after being tied so publicly to a mad half-blood who hadn't even had the power to hold up against a seventeen year old wastrel. After Draco and Narcissa were acquitted, and Lucius himself on parole, he had been still been hopeful of entertaining one of the younger Greengrasses. Lucius would have even settled for the Parkinson girl, if he had to. But no, it had been so much worse. Perhaps ruin was all that was left to the Malfoy line no matter who won or who lay in the mud.

As much as he was loathe to admit it, Lucius did doubt that Lord Voldemort would have been any better that the current muggle-loving, Potter-worshiping Ministry. One snake-charming half-blood traded for another. At least this one gave them some semblance of dignity when he took what they loved most. Although the cover of today's _Prophet_ was not a grand example of dignity, at least Lucius himself was not in the mud at a madman's feet.

He would never speak such thoughts aloud, but he knew Narcissa suspected. It was those dreadful soft looks she gave him.

"Lucius?" Narcissa's voice recalled him from his melancholy. “Are you quite alright, my darling?”

Lucius steeled himself and turned away from the drink he had been failing to pour. He made the mistake of looking out a window again. Hundreds of little white chairs were being conjured.

"Of course," he lied smoothly, the hex tremors in his voice were almost gone now, six long years after the war.

Narcissa, of course, could read him easily no matter how little he shook. Her eyes were as good as veritaserum when she looked at him like that. He pulled his gaze away. Narcissa did not let him, she stepped closer and laid her hand lightly on his arm. Giving him strength, the caress of her magic cool and calming against his own more volatile depths, she claimed his truths with nothing but a touch. And he let her, as he always had.

"Are we doing the right thing?" he asked her, there was no use trying to hide his concern from her. Not here, not now. Not ever.

"Oh, Lucius," she said with a slight shake of her head. He hated the sadness in her voice. "I don't think this is our decision to make, do you? It is a new world out there and you know it. We both do."

There was power in her voice, a strength she had never given up. Lucius had crumbled, even before they lost the war, but Narcissa was made of something stronger. Where he had been brittle stone, fragile once it was carved too finely, she was something stronger and more supple, like goblin steel and wand wood, she bent but she never broke. He didn't know what he would do without her and he ached with the knowledge. Where he had lain in the mud at a half-blood's feet, she had lied to his face for love.

Lucius could feel the heat of her and smell the light florals of her perfume, when she stood so close. It was the same one she had worn for most of their lives, lilac and lily-of-the-valley. He closed his eyes and allowed it to transport him, momentarily, back to times where his world made sense and his name meant something like power.

“Lucius?” her voice caught him, stopped him from falling yet again, and he opened his eyes to look at her.

Her eyes were a spectacular deep violet colour that one could only find in the oldest of wizarding lines. The purest of the purebloods. The realisation that this glorious colour may never make it back into the Malfoy line, that it and his name could die out with them hit him like a Stupify to the chest and he couldn’t respond.

“Lucius,” said Narcissa, her tone more stern this time. “What are you thinking to bring about this gloom? Today, of all days? We must be strong. You know how much rests on this ritual. For all of us. For Draco.”

For Draco. The words echoed in his bones and he had to wonder.

"Narcissa-"

A strong, sharp knock at the parlour door interrupted them both, and stopped Lucius from spilling forth any imaginary heroics. Saved Narcissa from having to comfort or confront him. Probably just as well. Fits of romanticism did not suit either of them.

Lucius took another deep breath, Narcissa's perfume still sweet on the air that filled his lungs. He found it in himself to nod once, allowing her to know that he was prepared for visitors. Even if he was not sure he would ever truly be ready for any such thing again. She seemed to know that too, as she seemed to know so many things about him.

Narcissa lowered her hand to his and gave a final press of comfort, before she freed him. She obeyed propriety and stepped away, taking her magic and her perfume with her. Only once they were safely disentangled, did Narcissa call out for the visitor to enter.

Almost at once, Andromeda Tonks swept the room with her boisterous grandson in tow. While Lucius was gratified that people had remembered tradition and come to visit Narcissa on this horrific but notionally joyous morning, he could not help his discomfort. Andromeda had, of course, felt the need to bring the werewolf spawn with her.

Thus far the child had only exhibited his mother’s metamorphmagus gifts, rather than his father’s curse; yet Lucius could not find it in him to trust the child, no matter how rare his magic may be nor how well the connection may serve the family. The Malfoys needed every light sided friend and relation they could dig up in this cold new world they now faced. Lucius focused on the thought and dredged up a polite grimace.

“Andie, what a pleasure,” said Narcissa, with more genuine affection than Lucius could ever find. “Welcome, my dear."

Narcissa then moved to hug her once estranged sister, the embrace was returned with what seemed to be genuine affection. Lucius was reminded sharply that this woman, with her poor choice of connections, her distorted sense of pride and her stern smile, was the one of the only close blood family Narcissa had left. They had lost so much to the wars. All of them. Yet another reminder that they may not be able to afford a third, no matter how bad this new world got.

"And young Teddy,” Narcissa continued, turning now to the seven year old in question. “How very smart you look today!”

The child did not, in Lucius opinion, look at all smart despite the perfectly cut formal robes and cream gold of the lace cravat, all showing distinct traces of Narcissa’s tastes. As if to spite these efforts, the child had turned his hair all seven shockingly bright shades of the rainbow, as if he was purposefully trying to disrupt the neutral colour palette that Narcissa had so carefully selected for the day’s festivities. The child would be centre stage, serving as he would as the bearer of rings and carrying to cords. Lucius refused to be mortified.

The child started to ramble almost incoherently at Narcissa, who feigned interest in said asinine ramblings with admirable aplomb. Unfortunately, that left Lucius to act the host to their adult guest in the interim.

"A drink?" Lucius managed with strict cordiality.

"Why thank you, Lucius, that would be lovely. A gin spritz, if you please." The sparkle in Andromeda's eye made Lucius uncomfortably aware that she found his discomfort not only obvious but also amusing. "It is early, but is a party, is it not?"

"Indeed." Lucius smiled coolly back and returned to the drinks trolley. He finally prepared his own Firewhisky, it was certainly too early for dark spirits but on a day like today he would need the fortification. He then progressed with a white rose gin and sparkling soda for Andromeda. And finally he prepared a mimosa for Narcissa without asking, he knew her habits well enough after forty years of watching her, and the house elf who placed the drinks tray that morning had provided the requisites, instinctively.

By the time Lucius could not reasonably keep busying himself with the drinks, Andromeda and Narcissa had settled into a comfortable confidence on one of the sofas but the fireplace. Leaving the child to wander aimlessly. Lucius suppressed a shudder and delivered the cocktails to the two witches.

"To the happy couple," Andromeda offered a toast, that devious spark still bright in her eyes. Dark violet eyes, Lucius could not help but notice.

Narcissa returned the smile and raised her glass, Lucius joined her even if he did begrudge the sentiment. It would have been impolite not to return the toast, even under the conditions. Perhaps he should not begrudge it, Draco would need all the blessings he could get selling himself into this absurd arrangement.

Lucius withdrew from the witches, ostensibly giving them a chance for private conversation but in reality extracting himself from the awkwardness of socialising with a known blood traitor on the day his son would become one too. It was better for him to avoid the conversation rather than risk saying something improper. Wishing your son's future spouse dead was not all that unusual, but it was frowned upon to openly express it in company.

There was a tug on Lucius sleeve, his very expensive, very well embroidered sleeve. He glared down at the interruption to his thoughts. It was young Edward "Teddy" Lupin. Of course it was.

"Yes?" Lucius asked, voice cool and careful. The child did not seem dissuaded.

"Are you Draco's dad?" the child enquired. Impudent but not intolerable. They had met but it was not unthinkable that this information had never been clarified for the child. Andromeda visited with Narcissa often enough, but generally Lucius avoided the visits. Draco also spent much time with the child but it would have generally been in Potter's intolerable company, where Lucius was almost certain his name would be at best an inconvenience and more likely an anathema.

While he did not like the colloquial title of 'dad', he supposed the child couldn't really help it considering the ways he had been raised. Someone had to start showing the brat some decorum. It clearly wouldn't be Andromeda. Perhaps Lucius should at least try to demonstrate how a true wizard behaved.

"Yes," Lucius allowed, with perfect condescension. "I am Draco's father."

The child frowned and was silent for a few precious moments. Then he ruined it by speaking, "Uncle Harry doesn't like you very much?"

It was a statement posed as a question. Almost cleverly done. The child's confidence invited confidence in return. Blunt in phrasing but openly inviting an explanation. Lucius was not inclined to give one, even if the sign of potential for future subterfuge was admirable.

"Well," said Lucius, "I'm not very fond of him, either."

Young Lupin considered this. Then piped up once more, "Won't that be weird? 'Cause you're going to be kind of his dad too now?"

"I rather expect," said Lucius, startled into honesty (or something like it) by the very prospect, "it is not as unusual as you may assume, under the circumstances."

He refrained from adding that, when your son was being treated as the spoils of war you didn't get much of a choice in the matter at all.

"Uncle Harry's my godfather," the child spoke with such pure pride that Lucius had to work very hard not to cringe.

"I am aware," Lucius said, for want of a better response, nor an escape route. Lucius had to wonder where the nursemaid was. Lucius had been busy rebuilding his family reputation the first time for most of Draco's infancy, but he did remember the string of witches charged with his son's care and how difficult they had been to find at the most inopportune of times. Like the one he currently faced, in fact.

"Uncle Harry says that makes him kind of my dad, but not really because even though my dad's dead doesn't mean he isn't my dad. Does that make you kind of my grandad, but not really?"

Lucius repressed his horror. "I am already your great-uncle by marriage; I think that's quite enough, don't you?"

For some unfathomable reason the child looked distressed by his statement.

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> Comment here for on **[Livejournal](http://hd-familyfest.livejournal.com/20960.html)** for the author to see. Authors  & Artists will remain anonymous until reveals - posted after October 1, 2016


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